by Liana Lefey
The act elicited a strained groan, and she watched the bead of dew grow larger, until at last it began to slowly slide down to one side. Touching it with her free hand, she found it both slippery and viscous, much like the slickness now gathering between her own legs. With one fingertip, she smoothed it over the head of his shaft in a slow circle and earned another low, almost agonized moan.
The man who’d lain so docile suddenly reached up, breaking her hold to pull her down atop him. “I think that’s all I can take, sweet Mary.” He kissed her again, deeply, his lips and tongue sliding against hers until her bones felt molten, and then whispered, “Now it’s my turn.”
It’s time. Sparks of fear prickled from the base of her spine all the way up to her scalp as he flipped her over onto her back, and she braced herself for the pain she knew was coming. But he didn’t immediately spread her legs and invade as expected. Instead, he briefly tormented her breasts again before dragging his lips lower, lingering in every dip and hollow as he slowly worked his way down her body.
She tensed as he kissed her navel, and bit her lip to keep from laughing as he ran his tongue around it, tickling her awfully. The mischief sparkling in his eyes as he looked up at her from his strange vantage point forced the laugh out anyway. But all laughter died a moment later as he approached the place where her sex lay concealed.
Embarrassed, she began to press her thighs together.
“Now, now. I showed you mine,” he teased, gently nudging her knees back apart. “It’s only fair I get to see yours.”
Every drop of blood that wasn’t currently pulsing between her thighs now rushed to her face, heating it until she was sure it must catch fire. Nevertheless, looking at the ceiling, she did as he bade and opened to him.
“Oh, Mary,” he breathed, staring at her exposed nethers with fevered eyes. “You are perfection all over.”
What he did next came as such a shock that she could only lie there, paralyzed, until pleasure overcame astonishment. It didn’t take long. His hot mouth moved over her secret place in a kiss so intimate that it could not possibly be anything but a sin. When his tongue parted her swollen folds to dip inside her and tease the bud that lay nestled within, she would have come up off the bed but for the hands grasping her hips to hold them down.
So intense was the sensation that with each pass of his tongue she cried aloud, not caring if the whole village heard. Her fingers plunged into his hair and dug at his scalp, gripping the inky strands, urging him on. By all that was holy, she’d never even thought a man might do such a thing to a woman! She’d seen animals mate and had thought it would be for her as it was for them.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Her whole body seemed to be tightening, the want of before now becoming a raging need. She felt hollow, incomplete. And yet it was almost too much. Too much sensation to bear all at once. Unable to withstand it the more, she dug her heels into the mattress. But she didn’t really want to escape. She wanted him inside her.
Pain was coming, but she didn’t care. This empty feeling had to end! Her fingers tightened, and she tugged at his hair until his head lifted. Following her silent command, on hands and knees, with eyes afire, he crawled up and over her body to once more claim her mouth and steal her breath. The taste of herself on his tongue both shocked and aroused her to the point of near madness.
Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but this. And she wanted more. She wanted it all.
Reaching down between them, she again took his shaft in her hand, smoothed the slickness at its head down over the rigid column of flesh as far as possible, and guided him until she felt its hot, blunt tip kiss her wet opening. Releasing him, she then tilted up her hips and closed her eyes.
“No, my bold, beautiful Mary,” he rasped. “Open your eyes and let me see you.”
She wriggled, hoping to escape such mortification, but he wouldn’t budge. Giving in, she opened her eyes and fixed them on his.
They were so dark, their pupils having all but eclipsed the blue. Her whole being shook at his look as he surged into her, piercing her maidenhead with a sharp pain that tore a yelp from her throat. His girth stretched her passage as he slowly sank deeper, the hard heat of him impaling her fully until there was no space left between them.
Body and soul, she now belonged to Daniel Wayward.
Poised above her, his arms trembling with the effort, he held still—for her sake, she knew. Soon, he would withdraw, and there would be blood.
But he didn’t. “Has the pain gone?” he asked quietly, worry in his eyes.
Biting her lip, she nodded.
“Mary, I need to know before I can move,” he said tensely. “I don’t want to cause you any more pain than I must. The truth. Is it gone?”
There was only one way to find out. She shifted a little, testing her body, feeling every inch of him sheathed inside her, still stretching her. The sharp pain had subsided to a dull ache, however, and a feeling of fullness unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Her body was adjusting. “It is.”
Relief flooded his features. “I’m glad. I’ve never been with a virgin before. I was unsure what to expect other than your pain.” Lowering himself onto his elbows above her, he kissed her softly, almost chastely compared to his prior kisses. “I tried to make it not hurt. I may have overindulged tonight, but at least I remembered to do that much.”
Emotion swelled inside her, too great to be contained. “I took great pleasure in it, all the way up until that part. But I know the pain is past, now, and that it will never hurt like that again. Surely, it will be much more pleasurable the next time.”
A startled look crossed his features briefly before gentling into something both tender and amused. “Oh, we’re not done yet,” he said with a velvet chuckle. “You’re not leaving this bed until we’re both satisfied.”
Confusion made her frown. “Did you not find your pleasure?”
His chuckle turned into a full laugh that she felt deep inside her as he settled himself more firmly in the cradle of her thighs. “Sweet Mary, you have no idea of the pleasures yet to come.” A wicked gleam entered his dark eyes. “Allow me to demonstrate.”
He shifted his hips, withdrawing a little—just enough to cause friction between them—and then slowly sank back into her, until he seemed to touch her very core. A gasp tore from her lips as the tightening sensation of before returned tenfold in a rush. Her thighs involuntarily clasped his hips, settling him back flush against her.
“See?” he said, smiling down at her. “It’s not over yet.”
This time when he moved, she began to move with him, encouraging him with her body. Together they found a rhythm that worked magic, sending melting warm sensations throughout every fiber of her flesh. Again and again, they washed over her like waves on a beach, the warmth increasing with every drag of his heated body against hers, with every push deep inside her, until it lit the blood in her veins afire. Greater and greater, the tension grew, until she thought it must break and she must surely break apart with it.
The sudden, unexpected clenching of her nethers caused her to cry out and arch her back so that her shoulders lifted from the sheets. Like a bow drawn by an archer’s hand, she bent, desperate and gasping, until at long last the arrow released, the bowstring snapping. Pleasure more intense than anything she’d ever experienced ripped through her, forcing a ragged shout from her throat. She clung to him, the only solid thing in the maelstrom, as she rode its aftershocks.
His hoarse yell soon joined hers, and she felt him thicken to granite hardness within her, his hips grinding against her in a jerky, uncontrolled motion an instant before he hastily withdrew, the motion triggering another sharp spasm of pleasure that felt only a little less satisfying than the first, as her body clenched around nothing. He collapsed atop her, heat spurting against her belly where his still-swollen length lay pressed between, twit
ching with each new burst of warmth.
Sweat-soaked skin melded as they lay together, heart to pounding heart, their ragged, uneven breaths complementing each other.
His weight was surprisingly pleasant rather than crushing. Still, it was a relief when he rolled off and to the side, taking her with him. Laying her head on his shoulder, Mary stroked his chest with gentle fingers as he used the edge of the sheet to wipe away the sticky mess first from her body and then his own. “I love you,” she whispered, closing her eyes, the better to savor the sensations still running riot through her. “I love you, Daniel.”
Chapter Fourteen
The four words drifted through the haze of satisfied exhaustion fogging Devlin’s mind, driving away the sleep he so desperately craved, chasing off the last of the liquor’s haze, bringing him to an instant state of alertness. Reality hit him like a cannonball to the gut.
I love you, Daniel…
Her breathing evened out into the pattern of slumber even as his thoughts ran amok, as panic rose up from his chest to strangle him.
What have I done?
Breath after breath, heartbeat by heartbeat, it sank in. He’d let himself be overtaken by greed for something he had no right to desire. They’d made love. There was no going back from that. Not for him, and certainly not for her. He’d taken something precious from her that could not be replaced.
There was only one thing to do now: the honorable thing.
But how? She thinks I’m Daniel! A thousand questions rose to the fore concerning how he’d achieve such a miracle. It would have to be done carefully. So very carefully. Otherwise, disaster.
Tell her the truth and then promise to court her properly after the switch… In the meantime she must appear to disengage with Daniel—starting immediately. He’d spend a few months wooing her when she came to London for the Season, and then they’d become husband and wife.
And once you’ve managed to put your ring on her finger? What then? If, that is, you can even convince her to do so once she discovers the sort of man you really are.
His gut clenched. He’d manage it. Somehow. And then he’d give her what she wanted. He’d bring her back here, to Harper’s Grove. She had friends here. He couldn’t bear to tear her away from them or from the place she’d come to call home. A place he realized he loved.
He knew he could trust her to keep their secret. She’d never tell a soul.
It was settled. A frisson of apprehension tingled down his spine. Permanence was a concept he’d always found unnerving. He’d avoided it his entire life. Could he actually do it? Escape his past? Not just the trappings of it, but that part of himself?
Am I truly capable of being the man she deserves?
Seeing the love fade from her eyes would be unbearable. Causing her even more pain would be unforgivable. Fear crept in, paralyzing him.
I need time. Time to think about this. For her sake, I cannot afford to make any more mistakes.
As if pernicious Fate herself had heard the thought, Mary stirred beside him, and then with surprising stealth, eased toward the edge of the bed with a faint oath that almost made him smile with surprise.
Panic set in as he realized why she was getting up. She’s going to leave!
His body reacted before his mind could catch up, and he grabbed her wrist to keep her from standing, drawing out a startled gasp. “Mary, wait…”
…
Mary felt the smile fade from her lips as she stared down into blue eyes wide with…fear? Regret? Unease crept into her heart. “What is it? What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he rasped, his voice suddenly taut and angry, spiking her trepidation. “No,” he repeated more softly, releasing her, but still holding her gaze. “You have done nothing wrong, Mary. I’m the one who has done wrong—to you.” He swallowed audibly, and she marked how sad he suddenly looked as he appeared to steel himself. “I’m not who you think I am. I’ve been lying to you. To everyone.”
She clamped down on the cold tendril of anxiety worming its way into her chest, willing it away. Of course he would feel guilty for having taken liberties. After all, they were not yet wed. “You hold yourself to far too high a stan—”
“Stop,” he rasped, his manner again harsh, unyielding. “Please. Just…stop.”
As she lapsed into worried silence, he sat up and pulled the blanket off the bed and abruptly extended it toward her, averting his eyes. Hurt, mystified, and not a little afraid of what he might say next, she took it and covered herself.
In a voice full of self-loathing, his words still slightly blurred with drink, the man to whom she’d just given herself told her of a visit home that had ended in a childish prank and a broken leg. He explained how he’d then devised and persuaded his twin brother to go along with a ruse meant to protect them both from his terrible mistake.
Shock threatened to send Mary’s soul right out of her body as she was made to understand that the man speaking to her now was not, in fact, Reverend Wayward, but rather his mirror image, Lord Devlin Wayward.
With growing horror, she recalled the moment when “the reverend’s” look had first shifted from one of warm interest to wariness that day, when he’d fallen and broken his leg.
“He told you,” she blurted, certainty washing over her all at once in a nasty, stinging wave that left her faintly nauseous in its wake. “He told you what I said to him!”
Thoughts piled atop one another, and in an instant everything coalesced into perfect, humiliating clarity. It all made sense now, his initial reaction—and everything that had followed. “That’s how you knew my name,” she accused. “And that’s why you were so awful when we visited your—his—parishioners. You were trying to dissuade me from setting my cap for him!”
“Yes, he told me,” confessed Devlin—Devlin!—shame written all over his too-familiar face. “I thought I was doing him a favor by discouraging you, but I was unprepared for how I would feel when—”
“For how you would feel?” she cut in sharply, incredulous. Anger began to build within her, settling in her chest. She could hardly breathe for the suffocating sensation.
“Yes,” he replied with pleading eyes. “Mary, my brother was wrong. Wrong not to be direct with you. And so was I. I never wanted to hurt you, only to make you see he was not the right man for you. You deserve better. Better than him. And far, far better than me.”
She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him, at this stranger. Not wanting to hear him. But his voice went on in a relentless barrage of useless self-castigation and regret that she couldn’t shut out.
“This is my fault. All of it,” he said, trailing into a whisper as he bowed his head. “It was I who stole his clothes for a lark, and it was I who persuaded him to trade places. Mary, I—I cannot apologize enough for what I’ve done. But please, I beg you to forgive me. And to forgive him.”
She’d been duped. Not once, but twice. The man she’d thought she loved had run away at the first opportunity, leaving his brother to deal with her. The words he’d said sank in. I thought I was doing him a favor by discouraging you… Bitterness joined anger as she imagined how the reverend must have spoken of her for that to be his twin’s sentiment.
Hurt overwhelmed all other emotions, and her eyes began to smart. “This whole time, I thought you—he—had grown to care for me. And now…” Bowing her head, she hid her face before he could see her tears.
Warm hands cupped her face and reached beneath her chin to tilt it back up. Gentle fingers brushed away the wetness on her cheeks. Torn between the need for comfort and the rage simmering just under her skin that he’d dared touch her again, she froze.
“I’m not him, Mary,” said Devlin softly. “I’m not the man you wanted, but I am the man who loves you. You must believe me.” His voice broke. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”
How long
she’d waited to hear those words. But it was all wrong! They came from the wrong man. “But you don’t even know me,” she choked out, ashamed at how feeble her voice sounded in her own ears.
“I do know you, Mary,” he insisted firmly, fire rekindling in his eyes. “I’ve seen your heart. And you may think me a stranger, but you’ve seen mine. I never thought to meet anyone like you. Certainly not while masquerading as my idiot brother—how can he have been so blind to how wonderful you are?”
Hearing him call his twin a blind idiot brought fleeting satisfaction, but it was quickly chased away as the blanket slipped off one shoulder, exposing it to the chill air. Suddenly she remembered she was all but naked. In front of Devlin Wayward, a man she hardly knew at all, who was now looking at her with desperate hope shining in his blue, blue eyes.
Eyes that darkened with want even now. The reverend Wayward had never looked at her like that. He’d barely even looked at her at all. And the few times he’d deigned to make eye contact, it hadn’t felt like this. Not even close.
How can two men who look exactly the same be so different? Make me feel so different? Her thoughts were cut short by another shock as the man she now knew as Devlin slid off the bed and onto his knees before her.
“Mary, I know this is the worst possible time for me to ask, but will you marry me? As myself, I mean,” he rushed, the words tumbling out of him. “This business with my leg is nearly finished—I’m almost healed. My brother and I will soon trade places again. I’ll woo you properly in London when you come. We can make it appear as if we’re meeting for the first time. No one need ever know about tonight.” He took her free hand and pressed a feverish kiss to its icy palm. “Please, Mary? Say you’ll be my wife.”
Part of her wanted to say yes, to bring a rational end to this nightmarish turn of events. She’d been compromised. There really was naught to do but say yes and accept her fate.
